I'm Not a LonelyHearts Club
by TrenchcoatsAreSexy
Summary: A B&tB pairing I don't believe anyone has written before. BelleD'Arque... D'Arque, at Gaston's urging, locks Belle up in his asylum. But what happens when sparks slowly develop between them?
1. Chapter 1

I'm Not a Lonely-Hearts Club

_By Sarajane_

**Author Note: In this alternate universe, Belle never leaves to go find Maurice in the woods.**

"Monsieur D'Arque! It's really quite simple," Gaston said, reaching out with his left hand and gesturing to the owner of the insane asylum as his lackey LeFou did the same. "YOU threaten to lock up Belle's father, and she marries me!"

"You really have a way with romance, Gaston," chirped LeFou.

"I have only one question in the matter," D'Arque intoned, as LeFou and Gaston watched his fingers curl into claws and spike into the table in front of them. "How much?" Gaston reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of gold coins. He passed them to D'Arque.

"Does this work for you?" he inquired.

"Indeed it does," D'Arque replied with a sneer, "Now, the question is… when?"

"Tomorrow," Gaston replied with a slick smirk, "Ah, tomorrow will be my wedding day! Cheers!" They raised their glasses and put everything in order for their plot.

The next morning, they all woke up as early as possible, even though they had had barely any sleep the previous night. (That late-night meeting had taken up most of their usual sleep time).

"The plan will work perfectly," Gaston said, extending his arm in triumph and accidentally (or purposely) smacking LeFou in the face with it. The three men were making their way over to Belle's house, which was across town from Gaston and LeFou's houses and even farther from D'Arque's. Gaston was in the lead of the line – with his enormous height and muscles, he was impossible to miss as a few early-bird villagers peeked out of their doors and saw the commotion.

"What's going on?" inquired the village baker.

"We're going to take Belle's loony old father to the Maison des Lunes," Gaston said happily.

"I'll come with you," the baker volunteered. So did several other residents of the village. By the time they ended up at Belle's house, there were about fifty men grouped together, ready to do what needed to be done.

There was just one problem… Maurice was nowhere to be found. Gaston discovered this when he had been knocking on the door of Belle's house for about ten minutes straight. The mob was looking incredibly annoyed, as if they had come for nothing.

"Hel-lo," Gaston called. "Maurice?" He started banging harder. "MAURICE! COME ON, OLD MAN! WAKE UP!"

"Gaston, what did you bring us here for?" inquired one villager. Gaston's response was to look directly at the man and growl loudly. The man squeaked and hid behind someone else. A few more minutes of knocking and yelling went on before…

"Gaston!" called a voice, as a young woman made her way up to the mob. "What are you DOING?"

"Belle!" Gaston exclaimed, whirling around, "We were just… looking for your father." Gaston smiled evilly, walking over and putting his hand on Belle's shoulder. She shrugged it off angrily.

"I don't know why YOU would be doing that. And what is Monsieur D'Arque doing here?"

"Well, Belle," Gaston replied, putting his finger under his chin and pretending to think, "Your father is a lunatic. The whole town knows that. Monsieur D'Arque would like to find him and put him away… Just so he'll be safe, you know."

"My father's not crazy!" Belle snapped, "You know he's not."

"And that's exactly what I was trying to tell Monsieur D'Arque. But maybe I could be a bit more persuasive if you… if YOU do something for me."

"Like WHAT, Gaston?" she shot back.

"Marry me." Gaston stepped in and grabbed her by the shoulders, leaning in to try and kiss her. She shook him off roughly and slapped him.

"Never!" she exclaimed.

"You… you…!" Gaston's face went bright red. His eyes were as cold as ice. He raised his hand to hit her back, but the villagers gasped and he lowered his hand. "Where's your father, Belle! We'll take him away!"

"My father's not here!" she exclaimed, "He's away at a fair!"

"Liar!"

"I'm not lying!"

"You're covering for him!"

"Listen," hissed D'Arque suddenly, "This arguing is useless. If she will not tell us where her dear father is… Well, then… We all know she's just as crazy as he is. We'll take her instead."


	2. Chapter 2

"But I don't know where my father is!" Belle exclaimed, "Listen, if you take me away, when he comes back he won't know where I am. Don't do this to him."

_Even better! _ thought Gaston evilly, _Once Maurice finds out Belle's locked up in the Maison des Lunes, he'll convince Belle to do anything in order to get out – and that thing is marry me! _

"Come along Belle," D'Arque continued, stepping over to Belle and grabbing her arms behind her back, "Let's not make a scene now."

Now that Belle was directly in front of him, she could see him more closely than she ever had before in her life – and, certainly, more closely than she'd ever WANTED to see him. He was in his late 40's, dark-skinned and strange-looking, with a hooked nose and an eye-patch over his right eye, the light and flimsy material allowing any observer to see the red socket where his eye used to be. Belle felt a chill go down her spine as she began to struggle with D'Arque, not getting anything resembling an upper-hand. _And,_ she thought bitterly to herself, _even if I did get the upper-hand, that mob would intervene._ It would be easier just to go with him.

She would figure out a way to get out of this one. She'd read enough books that she knew she had discovered the escape route from D'Arque's hell-house. She just wasn't sure where it WAS, yet. But it would come to her. It had to.

"Monsieur D'Arque!" Belle pleaded, but it proved to no avail. She knew it would.

As D'Arque led her off, she began rolling over the plot of every book she'd ever read… and even ones she hadn't and had just heard about. What would they have done?

By the time she arrived at the Maison des Lunes, D'Arque was surprised that she had quit struggling and now seemed to be merely thinking.

_That's dangerous,_ D'Arque thought to himself, _a crazy, book-reading, independent thing. That is insanity in its purest form. _

D'Arque locked the door and attempting to keep an eye on Belle while he flipped through his list of inmates. However, keeping an eye on two different things, he had discovered, was quite difficult when one only has one eye.

Belle began to wander around the Maison des Lunes, peeking into cells with a sort of fascinated horror. _These people can't all be crazy,_ she thought to herself, _so what vindictive grudge put them there? Was it anything like the vindictive grudge that put ME here?_

Then, with a frustrated sigh, she thought about her father. What would he do when some townsperson inevitably told him what had happened to her when he returned home? She tried to remember how long he'd said he would be away, but in her state of shock she couldn't think of it.

_Locked in this asylum with all of these inmates… and that horrid D'Arque my only window to the outside world! What will I do?_

Her thoughts were cut into by the angry rapping of D'Arque's fingers on a desk.

"Don't wander off," he snapped, reaching out and yanking her arm in the direction of the room he had chosen for her. It was a dark, damp, enclosure, more a cell or a closet than a room. There was a wooden slab that was meant to be a bed, complete with a set of straps attached to it. Belle's eyes rose in fear, and D'Arque shoved her towards the bed.

_There are only two things that can happen now,_ Belle thought to herself, _and neither of them is very appealing._

She readied herself to fight him if it was one of those choices. But to her surprise, D'Arque's confident, vicious look faded slightly.

"Belle," he said slowly, "If you promise not to escape, I won't use those." He gestured to the straps. _Oh, I'm so glad,_ Belle thought sarcastically. "But I will lock the door. I can't have dangerous inmates running wild. This world," he intoned, "is full of monsters that must be caged." He raised one finger, and Belle could see that his fingernails were slightly long, curved and as unseemly looking as the rest of the man. She could also now get a good look at his remaining eye. It was a mix of color between brown and a sort of blue black, with a sickly yellow lining. Despite her anger and hatred, Belle felt a pang of pity for the man. With an appearance like that, it seemed obvious that he would end up being a villain. It's not as if the town would accept him as anything else.

But that pity would not turn into SYMPATHY, Belle knew. She was still outraged and disgusted at this man. Who would do Gaston's bidding like that, and why? Because Gaston could pay. That had to have been it. Gaston would pay his price, and D'Arque would imprison her. What a fiend.

She narrowed her eyes on his.

"Do you plan to leave?" she snapped. D'Arque flinched.

"If you so desire. Enjoy your stay," he shot back, slamming and locking the door. He sighed.

She really was such a pretty girl. He could see what Gaston saw in her.

If only…


	3. Chapter 3

D'Arque made his nightly rounds of the asylum in silence. He needed time to think about what this girl meant to him – the way he'd have to run the asylum. He knew her father had to eventually return to look for her, and what then? How would he strong-arm Maurice into talking Belle into marrying Gaston?

Oh, this idiotic crusade of Gaston's! He wanted nothing to do with it. All this silly girl-chasing was going to wear that man down. D'Arque had no time for it. He couldn't remember the last time he went after a girl, and he didn't care to. He snorted, shoving on hand into his pocket and pulling out one of the gold coins Gaston had given him. _A pretty girl,_ he thought to himself, _will not stay pretty forever._ _This gold, however, will forever look very nice indeed. _

On the other hand, he could feel his heart softening somewhat to Belle. He could see why the girl didn't want to marry Gaston – _who would be all that eager to become some brute's doormat, after all? _And to lock up a girl to force her to marry you… It seemed to be anything but a proper way to go about this.

_But when did I ever care about proper, anyway?_ He reminded himself. _I own an asylum, and I take money to lock people up. Are they really crazy? Who knows? Who cares, so long as the price is right?_

Upon checking that all of the inmates were bestowed in their correct rooms, he sighed and sat in a large plush chair in his front office. Everything seemed so complicated. Why should he bother worrying about fools' morals? It wasn't as if life had treated him well enough to worry over other people's problems. He had quite enough of his own.

He let his gaze wander up to the front wall, to a pasty, paint-peeling old portrait of his parents. _What a couple they were,_ he thought with a sigh. A pretty Paris society girl and a Senegalese immigrant. _A union,_ he reminded himself, _that lasted just long enough to create me. Why do I keep that portrait up? What purpose does it serve?_

But he hadn't the heart to tear it down.

Silly Gaston. Falling over himself to get a girl. Girls were a useless endeavor – no matter how gorgeous or good in bed they were, or whatever else criteria matter. But Gaston was a boy – as tough as he might think himself, that was what he was, a boy, less than half D'Arque's age.

_He'll come to his senses one day. Or he won't. It's not my problem. _

A burst of sound suddenly cut into D'Arque's thoughts. A woman was loudly screaming that her husband was stealing someone else's face.

D'Arque sighed. There was his peace and quiet, slashed as usual. He lifted himself out of the chair and began the slow walk over to the woman's room.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle couldn't find a way to get to sleep. Around her, wails and screams from other rooms could clearly be heard through the paper-thin walls that surrounded her.

_If only,_ she thought to herself, _I could break through those walls and flee… and free anyone else who was locked here for no reason, as well! _

She sat up on the bed and looked around. Besides the bed, the only other object in the room was a dirt-covered stand-up mirror. Sighing, she examined herself in it, attempting to smooth down her hair and return herself to a presentable state. But what was the point if it would just lead to another day in this asylum? Better to leave herself looking horrible and get out of here sooner. What could she use the mirror for? Break it and try to pick the lock with a piece of glass? Oh, that would never work.

She remembered reading a book in which a girl found a secret door inside a mirror. She wished that she could do that – and that the door would lead to someplace that was NOT the Maison des Lunes!

But quite frankly, if she had to stay here, temporarily, it might be best to make the best of it. She took out the ribbon that was holding her ponytail together and retied it, pulling it tight and smiling as she thought of what she would be doing if she were back at home – reading.

Could it be possible that this sordid place had some books in it? It was possible, as D'Arque seemed, if morally reprehensible, rather well-educated. But she was not in the mood to ask him for anything.

_I'll stay here as long as I have to. But I WILL get free. And when I do… I'll prove to the town just what happened, and Gaston had better be sorry. _

_Until then, I can pretend to step through the mirror into another world. _

She lay back and finally drifted off to sleep.

She awoke the next morning to the sound of a feather-duster lightly tapping her door.

"Hello," a voice said brightly. Belle sat up and rubbed her head. She hadn't slept well, but due to the fact that there was no pillow and she was sleeping on wood, that could be expected. "Hello, rise and shiiiiiine," the voice called again.

Belle stood up and walked to the door and peeping through the hole.

"Hello?" Belle said back.

"Why, hello! You're a pretty one!" replied the voice on the other end. It was followed by a giggle as the door opened. Belle found herself looking at a tall, chubby girl who seemed to be about twenty, who had long, curly reddish-brown hair. "My name's Amorette. What's yours?" She giggled again and brushed Belle's face with the feather duster. A clump of dust flew in Belle's face and she coughed. "Whoops!" Amorette exclaimed, "Sorry!"

"It's alright," Belle replied, putting on a shy smile, "I'm Belle."

"Well, Belle," Amorette said, "The Monsieur would like to talk with you." Belle uneasily hesitated, unsure of whether Amorette was an employee, an inmate, or some combination of both.

"So, when did you get here?" Belle asked, as they walked down the hall.

"A long time ago," replied Amorette, "My family had to send me here a loooong time ago! But now, the Monsieur trusts me, so he lets me do stuff."

"Are you two… romantically attached or anything?" Belle asked curiously.

"Oh, no! Nothing like that! It's not even like the Monsieur THINKS about girls. I mean, I don't think he does."

"That's interesting," Belle replied. They reached the end of the hallway, and she could see Monsieur D'Arque standing there, stationary, looking her in the eye.

"Well, welcome, Miss Belle," he said in a deep, sarcastic voice. "Amorette, you may clean the rest of the Maison now."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Amorette chirped back, skipping off to another cell.

"Why do you order her around like a servant?" Belle said angrily once Amorette was out of earshot.

"Amorette is not the issue at hand presently, Miss Belle," D'Arque shot back, "Now we're going to have a talk. And I want you to listen closely."


	5. Chapter 5

"I never thought I would escape those wolves!" Maurice exclaimed, panting as he stumbled over a rock into Molyneaux, "Good thing I'm a rather good runner." He sighed. No more invention, though. Now he would never be a success. Oh well, at least he was back home – albeit after three days of on and off camping in the woods trying to find his way back. He'd gotten incredibly lost on the way to the fair, and after escaping from several wolves and having to leave the invention behind, he had decided to forget the fair and just head back to town. And that's where he was now.

He walked up to his house and opened the door.

"Belle!" he called. He looked around the house, scratching his head. Belle wasn't inside. Then again, Maurice reminded himself, there wasn't anything terribly strange about that. She was probably at the bookshop.

He changed out of his dirty, dusty clothes and walked down the road towards the bookshop. He strolled by the three side-by-side houses where Dominique, Anne, and Chanal lived. They were teenage girls, about Belle's age, but she didn't seem to be friends with them. Chanal was standing outside her house, sweeping the ground with a broom. Chanal was the oldest of the three girls, and the tallest as well – a girl with smoky dark skin and curly black hair.

"Good morning, Chanal," Maurice said happily. She seemed taken aback by his presence, and stepped back a moment.

"G-good morning, Maurice," she stammered. Looking at him, her eyes widened. How had he not heard about D'Arque committing Belle? She didn't plan on being the one to tell him, she was sure of THAT.

"Have you seen Belle?" he continued, raising an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic nervousness.

"N-no, M-m-maurice… Haven't seen her for a while, actually. You might want to ask Gaston. Last I saw, she was with him." _Good, that worked,_ Chanal thought. And it was half-true… Belle WAS with Gaston the last time she saw her. _Ugh._ What did Gaston want with that girl, ANYWAY? Didn't he realize he could have any girl in town? _Like me. _

"All right," Maurice replied, a little disheartened. He wasn't all that eager to talk with Gaston. He was the most popular man in town, of course, but Belle didn't seem to like him, and she was a very good judge of character. Therefore, the prospect made Maurice uneasy. But Chanal's words resonated in his ears – "haven't seen her for a while". That was unlike Belle. If she hadn't been seen by anyone for a while, then something strange was going on. And so, Maurice would go and talk with Gaston. And there was one place where everyone could always find Gaston – the tavern. "Thank you, Chanal."

"Have a good day," Chanal said flatly. Watching him walk off to the tavern, she recommenced sweeping and sighed. Gaston's recent actions were beginning to get to her. What was his problem? Couldn't he just forget about Belle and worry about a girl that was INTERESTED in him? Not a girl he needed to lock up to get her to marry him? What was wrong with Anne, or Dominique, or the Baker's sister, whatever her name was? The one with the curly hair. _And what, most of all, is wrong with ME?_ Chanal gritted her teeth and swept so hard that the bristles began to come off the broom. She threw it aside. "Gaston should be MINE!" she snapped. Realizing she'd said it aloud, and realizing that other people on the street were looking at her, she put on a fake smile, picked up the broom again, and started sweeping again in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yes, I know, it's short, but since I've kept everyone waiting for ages I decided to hurry up and finish this one. Hopefully there's more in the next update! I need more muses  **

"Belle," D'Arque said in a chillingly business-like voice. "There is one reason that you are here, and one reason alone."

"Because I would not marry Gaston," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"That is correct. I take it you do not like it here?"

"There is only one place I would rather be LESS and that is Gaston's house."

"So you STILL refuse to marry that man?"

"Yes, I do." D'Arque was turning this obstinate refusal over in his mind, trying not to show the fact that any confusion had eroded his heart. What was this girl trying to do? If she married Gaston, she would have all of the things that the other women seemed to fall over themselves imagining. Why did Belle not want it? It seemed that she was a special breed of girl, a strange stubborn creature who refused to look at her best interest. What could he do? Could he keep her here… forever?

"May I ask you why?"

"No, you may not. You have seen Gaston, he is a brute who believes women are worth nothing more than cookers and cleaners that make babies. I refuse to enter into such a marriage… In fact, I don't really want ANY marriage at the moment. I enjoy reading."

"Reading what?" inquired D'Arque.

"Oh, anything. Though it's been a while since I've gotten to read anything." _Since I've been locked up here with YOU_, her eyes added accusingly.

"I think I may have something," D'Arque replied, walking over to his desk. He opened a few drawers before coming across what he was looking for. He handed her a ratty, weathered copy of _The Merchant of Venice_.

"The Merchant of Venice?" Belle inquired, taking the book from his hand and flipping it open. A few pages fell out, and she quickly picked them up and placed them in their respective sections.

"Yes, that's it. My mother liked Shakespeare a great deal. I never really saw the appeal," D'Arque said in a bored voice.

"Did you ever TRY to read it?" Belle asked, her voice a mix of sympathy and annoyance.

"Never found the time," D'Arque replied, "Nor the need. This asylum takes up the lot of my time, and what time I don't use here I use to sell hats in town. I don't really have time for frivolous pleasure." His voice cracked slightly, and he narrowed his eye on her again. She seemed to be looking him over again, gazing at his patch and at his strange form. "Not polite to stare, is it, ma cherie?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to…" she said quickly.

"Yes, you did," D'Arque shot back, "But forget it. Enjoy your little reading exercise, and then figure out whether you're going to marry that idiot and get out of my hair or not. I have things to do."

He stomped off, leaving her pondering his words. She flipped to the beginning of the play and began to read intently, but dancing worriedly in her mind was the one question of… _what made D'Arque this way? Why is he so cold, so uncaring?_ It seemed as if she would be here for quite awhile, so she resolutely decided to solve the mystery. _The mystery of Monsieur D'Arque,_ she thought to herself_, it was like one of her books…_


End file.
